


Bertie and the Close Shave

by pearlbali (resqueln)



Category: Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Gen, M/M, POV First Person, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 00:23:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3431069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/resqueln/pseuds/pearlbali
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was rummy circs and no doubt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bertie and the Close Shave

It was rummy circs and no doubt. Let me apprise you of the situation: me, in the spongebag trousers, waiting in the wings for my cue to place a merry foot forward and leg it up the aisle, there to be joined shortly by my determined fiancée, Alice Ditteridge. Relatives had been assembled, vicars had been booked, and one and all were waiting with bated breath for the appearance of Wooster, B. . 

Normally it is at this point that my valet, Jeeves, steps in with a plan of incomparable ingenuity and fishes this Wooster from the soup. Not so today. Today the location of one R. Jeeves was anyone’s guess, he and I having argued and he having told this Wooster where to stick it - in polite and acceptable terms of course. Now standing one’s ground re: a preferred hat is all well and good when your valet’s unreasonable dislike of said hat is your only worry. One feels quite safe in making justified, if heated, comments about the rigidity of said valet’s sartorial preferences. Introduce scheming aunts and tenacious beazels into the mix however, and you are well and truly dished.

Bingo appeared in the doorway, interrupting my terrified gibbering. His cheerful facade seemed to me as grim as the ghost of Christmas wotzit pointing Scrooge towards the grave.

“They’re waiting for you, Bertie,” he said.

I swallowed.

“I say, are you alright?” Bingo asked, with a rare flash of insight. “You look awfully pale, Bertie old thing.”

“Any sign of Jeeves?” I croaked.

“Oh, Bertie,” Bingo said with effusive sympathy. “I’m afraid not.”

I sagged even more.

“What’s going on? Is he coming or not?” Tuppy barked out from behind the door. He elbowed in beside Bingo and eyed me critically. “Come on, Bertie! We haven’t got all day you know.”

“He’s got cold feet,” Bingo said with a sympathetic sigh.

Tuppy rolled his eyes. “For goodness sake,” he said, as he grabbed my arm with unnecessary force and started manhandling me towards the door. My dignified cry for him to leave off was met with a disdainful eye. “Don’t you go yelping at me, Wooster. Look, all you’ve got to do is walk a few feet, say a few words and then we can get out of this blasted, draughty church and back to your Aunt’s for some of Anatole’s grub.”

And with that I was unceremoniously shoved through the doorway.

Outside the church, the sun was in the sky and God was very probably in his heaven. Inside, the pews were filled with the beaming faces of my nearest and dearest, but my mood was as black as the metaphorical thingamee. I stood under the pall of my Aunt Agatha’s eye. The organ struck up, the assembled tottered to their feet and the church doors creaked open. My fate started advancing towards me up the aisle, like a shark moving in on a halibut with a gimpy fin. 

“Oh Bertie, doesn’t she look wonderful?” Bingo breathed beside me.

Visions of the immediate future started flashing before my eyes: moving out of the flat, my Aunt Agatha beginning the push for offspring, _Jeeves leaving_ – My knees weakened and I staggered a little. Bingo grabbed my elbow to steady me.

“Steady on, Bertie,” he said.

I turned on him, mouth flapping open in terror. “Bingo, I can’t!” 

“You can’t what?” Bingo asked.

“I can’t marry her, I can’t –“ I started, when someone shouted -

“WAIT!”

The organist screeched to a halt. The whole church fell silent and all eyes turned to the door. A terribly handsome young man in a soldier’s uniform stood in the doorway. 

“Phillip?” the Ditteridge female squawked and dropped her bouquet.

As previously mentioned, all eyes had turned to the soldier chappy. Now everyone was gawping at my erstwhile fiancée as she dashed down the aisle at a pace that would have outstripped a Grand National winner. There was a collective gasp as Alice threw herself into said soldier chappy’s arms. 

“What is the meaning of this?” Aunt Agatha demanded with a shrill cry.

Everyone started shouting at once, none of which I really followed because there, in the shadows of the church door, stood Jeeves. He looked a bit rummy, but there was relief in his eyes as they met mine. Then he was gone. I made after him, slipping away in the chaos.

He was waiting by the lychgate. I took up post next to him, lighting a gasper. We stood for some moments without talking.

“Bit of a close shave that,” I said eventually, as the cold fear of impending doom began to fade away.

“Indeed, sir.”

“In fact, I was rather beginning to think you’d left me to my fate, Jeeves.”

There was something of a strained pause on his part, and then he said, “That had never been my intention, sir.”

Relief suffused me, the blackness of my mood dissipating instantly at this news as if the clouds had suddenly parted on a gloomy day to reveal that everything in the world was indeed bright and gay.

Still – 

“Not that I’m ungrateful to be snatched from the noose, Jeeves, but wasn’t that cutting it a bit fine?”

“I had exacted a solution prior to our… discussion yesterday, sir,” he said delicately. I winced at the memory of our tiff. “Unfortunately it took time to locate the young man in question.”

I pushed away from the wall and he joined me at my side. We strolled down the lane away from the church, where the roar of raised voices from inside was reaching fever pitch. 

“Ah yes, who was that young chappy?”

“That would be Miss Ditteridge’s fiancé, sir.”

I gaped at him. 

“She was already engaged?”

“Yes, sir. However, I believe the young lady was under the impression that the gentleman had forsaken her.”

“Well, well, well. And you knew otherwise then, Jeeves?”

“Yes, sir.” He stopped as we drew level with the car, frowning slightly. 

Where Jeeves is concerned, even the most trifling of gestures can indicate a wealth of emotion. The crease on his noble brow was a small one; on another chap it could have been easily dismissed as an unfortunate facial tic. Knowing Jeeves as I did, I knew that it meant he was pretty stirred up. Wracked with guilt almost. The sight of it stirred me up in turn, and my heart went out to him. 

“I say, Jeeves – “ I started.

“Sir, I –“ he spoke at the same time.

“Bertie!” the banshee howl of my Aunt Agatha’s voice shattered our interlude.

“Quick, Jeeves!” I yelped, leaping like a gazelle into the passenger’s seat. Jeeves was already aboard, and not a moment too soon as I spied Aunt Agatha sailing towards us down the lane. 

“Are we to return to London, sir?” Jeeves asked calmly, the engine roaring to life under the bonnet.

“Yes, I think so, Jeeves. Speedily, if you don’t mind.”

“Very good, sir,” Jeeves said.

And with that we sped past Aunt Agatha and away to freedom.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this story has been used a million times. Suggestions for better titles much appreciated! 
> 
> Concrit welcomed as usual.


End file.
